


Not in Kansas Anymore

by Emblue_Sparks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Bickering, Boaz Priestly is Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Concerts, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Eyeliner, F/F, Fear of Flying, Frottage, Holding Hands, Kilts, Kissing, London, M/M, Monsters, Punk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/pseuds/Emblue_Sparks
Summary: Team Free Will hops the pond to London for a case that Rowena requested help with. When things become too good to be true for Cas, he realizes he's not in Kansas anymore. Nor London. And Dean makes a convincing argument for staying, wherever they are. Will Cas remain, or choose the more difficult path?





	Not in Kansas Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tfw_cas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfw_cas/gifts).

> This ficlet is a belated birthday gift for tfw_cas! It also happened to fulfill the crossover prompt from the @cocklesdestielfanfiction on tumblr. Not sure if it's an actual crossover, fusion, or somewhere in between. Feel free to let me know so I can more accurately tag in the future. Thanks to Benka79 for the quick beta!
> 
> Just a fluffy one shot for my friend, easy peasy. Then Priestly barged in, kind of, and that bastard in his kilt shook everything up. I've been wanting to write kilt sex forever and Dean/Jensen, Cas/Misha in a kilt renders me a hot, horny mess. This will not be my last foray into smut involving hot guys clad in tartan apparel that's for damn sure. Hope you enjoy!

"Everybody relax! I'm here." Dean strutted out from changing into ‘case work’ attire from his usual threads.

"Surf..Naked?" Cas's skepticism of Dean's wardrobe choice was obvious.

"Yep." Both Dean's tone and clipped response simmered with _I'm only wearing it to play the part. Shut up. _

Out of Dean's entire wtf undercover ensemble, which was indisputably his most outrageous to date, Cas had to fixate on the advice offered by his T-shirt. If he didn't, the rest of that hot Winchester mess would unambiguously reveal the nature of his feelings.

"Do you?" Cas suddenly had to know.

_Don't look at the way the sleeves of his shirt almost meld to his firm biceps. Or how the side to side swish of the hem of his kilt shows off his adorably bowed legs. Best not to dwell on the creamy, unblemished skin below the loose material. Just keep your eyes on those steel toe combat boots and imagine the crunch your vessel would feel as they'd make contact with it's "junk" as Dean would say. Because the way that sporran hangs down in angular fashion to cover his nether region- _

"Surfing? No. Swim? Hell yes."

Visuals of naked, swimming Dean were not helping him focus on this case that Rowena had begged them to take on until she could arrive. Clearing his throat despite a lack of need, Cas tore his attention away from below Dean's belt and deflected the only way he could conjure on the fly.

"You look like Glaswegian bathed in Woodstock and went on an Amsterdam cafe crawl." Immediately regretting the insult, Cas straightened from his slouch to apologize, but Dean cut him off.

"At least I don't look like Depeche Mode at a Sex Pistols funeral."

It did not go unnoticed by Cas how Dean gave him a quick once over and had trouble not looking him in the eye. Once in a while Dean did this. And it left Cas wondering what it was about himself which had Dean straining to avoid eye contact. Regardless, he'd pushed too far with the remark this time.

"Punk is not dead Dean! Take that back!" He didn’t appreciate the implication that the genre had expired.

Admittedly, he didn't care much for the auditory side of the bands artistic expression. And yet, many of the lyrics from bands of that era conveyed a theme with which he was very familiar.

"It reads like rebellious poetry. I find it, pleasantly direct and honest." That was how he'd once explained it to Sam, who now happened to be barging into the London hotel room holding a few hair care items, but stopped dead in his tracks to gawk at them both. Even though Cas noticed him double take the hardest at himself, it was Dean to whom he first spoke.

"What...how..I said Muse was playing, not Albannach or the Proclaimers!"

Dean sniffed in defiance, "So?"

"They're British, not Scottish! You didn't have time to track down a kilt before we got here from Hethro, so what gives?"

Cas began to sense that his petty insult ran even deeper than he'd originally supposed. He watched Dean observe a moment of silence for his guarded dignity, before assuming its demise.

They'd been snapping at each other since the airport, when Dean had awakened to find himself in London after remembering Cas Rip Van Winkling his ass into an angelically induced coma in the middle of his panic attack during take off from La Guardia.

"I've told you before, don't watch me sleep. Don't make me sleep. It's just creepy."

"You'd worked yourself up to a dangerous blood pressure, was I supposed to let you have a stroke?" Cas rationalized.

Dean grumbled and bitched. "No! But warn a guy first, alright? Shouldn't have to wear a celestial rape whistle around you."

"You equate my decision to protect you from self harm, with sexual assault?” Cas had stormed off the plane in no mood for Dean's U turn backtracking, he heard tumbling out behind him. He'd been extremely offended by the comparison, no matter how regretful Dean appeared afterwards, and had been doling out petty snark ever since.

Now, watching as Dean folded his arms across his chest, he noted a clear discomfort and resignation. "Had it for a few years. Never know when it'll come in handy, like our clergy duds. Can we get to the real issue here?"

His attempt at deflection backfired. Sam grew even more intrigued. "How many years? Just who were you gonna pretend to be? John Barrowman?"

"At least he's wearing official Campbell tartan colors," Cas interjected.

Both brothers heads snapped to face him in question. He immediately held his hands up in defense. "That's not of import."

Sam went back to blankly staring at Dean for an answer. Cas heard the faintest whisper fall from his mouth, but knew it had been imperceptible to Sam.

"Bizarro Me," Dean issued only a few decibels higher.

Sam was confused. "Bizarro you?"

"When we got back from Bizarro World, I looked up 'other me'. Turns out he did a couple of no-name/grade B movies, then disappeared without a trace. Boom. Convenient alias, if I ever needed one."

Cas beheld a flummoxed Sam and listened as Dean explained about a lovable character, Priestly, he'd found refreshingly self accepting. Then Dean quickly shifted gears back to the pressing issue.

"Ya gonna fix guyliner here," he asked, gesturing to a squinty eyed Cas, "so we can track down this thing or what?"

Wholly uncertain of what further adjustments to his person were necessary, Cas regarded Sam pawing through his toiletry bag for something he was certain had been labeled "makeup remover." He was promptly nudged into the bathroom, where he learned from Sam he should never be allowed to apply his own eyeliner.

“How about I promise never to do my own makeup, if you promise not tell me why you have makeup remover?”

“Drop the Pissbaby around me, I’m not the one upset about the take off incident alright?”

Cas checked himself. Sam was right. “I’m sorry. For just now and on the plane.”

“Not taking sides here, I think you both have a point. And nice job by the way, for dressing somewhere in the ballpark of the right kind of fan, so you blend in.”

"I appreciate that Sam. You think we'll catch this creature tonight before more people go missing?"

"Mm, Rowena said the body count was up to seventeen as of two days ago. All attended concerts at The O2. That commonality makes it far more likely we’ll find clues there at least, if not rescue some people before they're too far gone, like the others."

Cas had been horrified to learn concert goers had been found staggering through the streets and alleys of London, frail as corn husks with blood and other vital fluids drained from them as if through a straw.

When most of the excess eyeliner had been removed, Sam left and Dean slithered in for a quick hair assessment.

As he finished combing his own hair into whatever a "faux-hawk" was with his fingers, Cas noticed his respiratory rate increase. He also noticed Dean ignoring it. And trying even harder to ignore it when twisting and separating strands of his hair in between his gelled fingers.

"This feels excessive," Cas conveyed in a breathtaking statement to the obvious.

"Cracking a case and saving lives can hinge on maintaining the right amount of 'excessive'. I was Charlie's handmaiden in a LARPing event. Snooped around wearing medieval stuff and caught the bad guy."

As Dean's hands raked through Cas's dark mane, a sleepy pleasantness fell over him. It felt out of place, given how riled up they both had been minutes earlier. But there seemed to be a lull in the storm, so he'd roll with it.

When Dean stepped back to admire his handiwork, Cas heard his heartbeat rapidly accelerating and once again was left to ponder what about himself elicited such a response.

He grunted, "That'll do," before taking a deep breath and turning to leave the bathroom.

"Dean, please wait."

He paused with his back to Cas, yet listened.

"I'd like to apologize for knocking you out on the plane. At the time, I felt it was necessary, but I guess I understand how you'd feel violated to some degree."

The odd wink and a smile Dean tossed at him over his shoulder while leaving the bathroom caused a ripple of discomfort in Cas, but he didn't feel like rocking the boat over it if Dean had moved on.

"Tell me you're wearing something under there." Sam seemed preoccupied with the notion that Dean might stubbornly run amok around London with naught under his kilt but what Chuck had blessed him with.

As they left the room Dean replied, "Alright. I'm wearing something under there."

With his shoulders slumping, Sam grumbled and rubbed his forehead.

"You wanna stick your hand up there and check, be my guest. But you buy me dinner first,” he declared as he took a bite of some beef jerky he’d brought over, “Otherwise, we're done here. Unless, you have a sudden urge to not stick out like a sore thumb?"

Smoothing down the front if his plaid button up, Sam assuaged, "Nope. I'm good with Lumberjack Yank."

Cas chuckled at the exchanged smartassery between brothers, but was stunned to find his hand suddenly enveloped in a delicious warmth. His eyes searched in Dean's for confirmation there hadn't been some awkward slip, that the gesture had been made with clear intent. And to his chagrin, he saw something sparkle across Dean's face which added another layer of contented sleepiness.

In the taxi headed to the concert venue, Cas realized he was so peaceful with Dean holding his hand he could easily fall asleep against his shoulder, if he thought it'd be appropriate. When the three stepped onto the venue's curb from the car, Cas experienced a disorienting wobble and almost fell to the hard ground.

"Woah buddy, what's going on?" Cas heard Dean issue while propping him back up.

Sam took notice. "What's up with him?"

"I'm..I'm fine. Jet lag maybe? I miss being able to fly. It would've been so much easier."

He felt guilty seeing Sam shoot Dean a silent _are we sure he's really 'fine'? l_ook.

Confidently, Dean assured all was well. "I've got him. He just needs a little rock ambience to get the blood pumping again. Go ahead and scope the place out. We'll find our seats and get comfy."

He made a show of tapping his ear to signal his com was on and working, then tugged Cas into the energized crowd awaiting entrance into the arena.

The rhythmic beat of the amplified drums paired with melodious, electronic undertones was not at all what Cas had expected. He was not displeased. Especially when Dean pulled him through the crowd by hand, keeping him close.

When they found their seating area, Cas felt Dean's grip loosen only to then rest on his hip. All he could do was stare, mystified by such affectionate behavior, and in public no less. No more than a second had passed when Dean's hand moved to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

As if in a dream, their rousing environments volume lowered, the magnetism pulling them closer became overwhelming. To Cas, Dean looked incredibly serene as he inched forward into a kiss so soft, his vessel easily could've assumed it was born of an IV drip hallucination. But what bliss…

The music had taken a playfully 1980's sinister vibe and the arena's massive screens flashed neon geometric shapes cascading and jumping into each other. The pink and blue shimmers dancing across Dean's face were so beautiful that Cas ached for him to the point of pain.

No, really. A pressure in his head had him resisting this reality. It was vague. It was doubt. Uncertainty. Skepticism. Another kiss from Dean shut all of those negative voices out, save for the lead singer's voice as the concert officially kicked off.

"I have lived in darkness

For all my life, I've been pursued

You'd be afraid if you could feel my pain

And if you could see the things I am able to see

Break me out, break me out

Let me flee break me out, break me out

Set me free"

The heat from Dean's mouth, the desire his body was singing with became utterly intoxicating to Cas. After a few moments he seriously regretted borrowing the black Levi's which were already a size too small for him. The sporran hanging from Dean's waste was digging into his straining erection already, uncomfortably smushed behind the buttoned denim fly. But none of that mattered when he opened his eyes and realized they were no longer at the concert, but standing on a sunny beach.

"Wwwhat, where.." Cas was craning his neck trying to search in every direction at once for a reason why they were no longer in London.

"You'd rather be hot boxed in a smokey, smelly arena than here with me?" Dean asked.

"You? But I was with you. So if you were there, then who are-"

Shrugging his shoulders Dean answered. "I'm me too. Ya hungry? I know a great sandwich spot across the street."

Cas looked down at his stomach, which he recognized had betrayed him. The unmistakable grumble was confusing. "I don't get hungry. Nor do I require nourishment like humans."

"A good sandwich will change your mind. C'mon I'll make you one."

Instantly they were inside a little eatery, Cas was chewing on something he still interpreted as molecules and looking out the window where he'd been standing a second ago.

"What'd I tell you, huh? Pretty damn good right?"

Dean's face was the sun, smiling back at him with such love and devotion, Cas was feeling a little blinded and awestruck by the situation.

The afternoon was pleasant and when Dean closed up shop, issuing farewell to his friendly coworkers, Cas was all too happy accompanying him home in Baby. He still couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on, but felt a little less concerned as time went by.

Dean's apartment was small, but clean and organized. He showered Cas with cuddly affections once in the bedroom. The more they kissed and touched the more Cas's heart was willing to fall under this strange spell which gave him Dean, unchained and unburdened with the cares and stresses of the hunting life. The man he adored, wanting to love him back, openly and carefree. After years of keeping himself on lock down, exhausted from exercising restraint, he let loose and tore the shirt off Dean's back.

"Take what you want from me angel, that's it," he cooed breathlessly into Cas's ear.

Cas's hands roamed over the smooth, beautiful landscape that was Dean, while kissing his shoulders and neck, noting each and every freckle. Inevitably his need became too great and the sporran blocking his way to true heaven suddenly hit the wall and fell to the floor. Dean's boots shattered the windows glass on their way to landing who cares where. And Dean himself was flung backward onto the bed with only the kilt as a barrier between Cas and what he desired most in that moment.

As he crawled up Dean's body, gazing at him with intent to devour, love, and bring untold pleasure, he yanked himself free from the cruel jeans. The next thing he knew Dean's plaid went up, his own hips angled down and forward, sliding them together in such a way that both gasped at the deliciously hot contact.

"I've changed my mind about the skirt-er, kilt. Wear this everyday. And only this. Please," Cas whispered into his mouth, which he'd begun to explore with his tongue.

"As you..oo..uh.wish."

The desperate little grunts Dean was making tugged at Cas's heart strings. He didn't care anymore about this bizarro situation, he no longer had the strength to fight anymore.

The sheer amount of precum between them was staggering. Cas chalked it up to his intense craving for Dean which he'd kept at bay for so long. Maybe it was the same for Dean. He did seem unbelievably hard and was panting in stilted, uneven breaths. Wondering if he should perhaps slow their pace, the second Cas did, he found warm hands grasping his ass cheeks and heard frenzied, muffled pleas against his neck.

"Don't..don't stop, please Cas, don't slow down, I need, I nnn-need you. Keep going."

Cas understood. So he let go and allowed him to set the pace. If Dean came first, so be it. His happiness, his pleasure was what he'd craved for so many years. It was inevitable, his own would follow. He lifted his hips ever so slightly, so Dean could move beneath as he wished and sure enough, seconds later an adorable human was growling against his neck as a wet warmth spread between them.

Cas felt himself slightly nudged upward while a hand moved against their tummies, wiping at the wetness on their skin, and beginning to stroke his cock. No. There's be time for such playful reciprocation later. He'd make sure of it. Right now he needed to be inside his love.

Sliding an arm under the beautiful soul below him, he quickly flipped them so he was seated on the bed, and Dean on his lap. What Cas wanted was met with mutual desire. He didn't even question how Dean was able already able to sink, smooth as silk, down his shaft until he could go no further. Languid, fluid motions from Dean's hips yielded multi angled squeezing up and down his entire length.

Cas thanked his stars his lover adored the art of kissing so much. He could happily lose himself in those precious, plump lips forever. If Dean was overly sensitive from his orgasm, he never revealed it. Cas only saw the bliss he took from each downward plunge onto Cas's cock and the exquisite stretch it yielded against his prostate.

Less hurried and frantic were his movements which Cas was cataloging, millisecond by millisecond, as time lost all meaning for them. It took immeasurable strength for him not to pound away in Dean, rushing towards his release. The same strength it had taken him over the last ten years, not to chance their friendship on the love Cas had been certain would never be reciprocated.

He didn't know how long they'd been making love, but the earth moved and the stars shone all the brighter. The frantic building grew more intense, their grinding into one another more fierce, and as Cas's release filled Dean, the shuddering of his vessel somehow timed with the gravitational crashing of waves heard beyond the broken window. Night fell upon their entangled forms and Cas finally became the strange sleep's willing captive.

Days passed. Brilliantly happy days which turned into months. They spoke with Sam over the phone and went through their daily hampster wheel routine of beach time, lunch time, and evening shifts with beloved friends, followed by impassioned nightly sex.

Cas didn't care if he was often sleepy. He'd reconciled that blissful kisses and touches from Dean brought him such joy, the years of stress releasing from his vessel from the affections would probably manifest in such a way for a long time. Yet once in awhile he'd hear strangely familiar music which didn't appear to have a source. And with it came echoes of words he'd be on the precipice of understanding, yet just before their meaning took hold he'd be assaulted with love and laughter from a gorgeous man in a kilt.

As time wore on, the music would occur within the apartment as if turning the stereo on with the speakers cranked all the way up. It startled Cas and left painful tingles ricocheting throughout his grace. One day Cas noticed an odd sensation in his grace. Tugging at first. Then a hard yank which physically pulled him over onto the family room floor. From beneath it, he could hear screaming and pleading. Already on all fours, he put his head against the aged shag carpet to listen. He actually jumped when Dean pulled him up, spun him around and nuzzled his nose.

_"Cas!" _

Another echo. But this time not from the floor. The wall? Outside? Cas turned towards the front wall to listen but felt himself jolted back into Dean's arms.

"Don't leave me angel."

"Can't you hear that?"

"Probably the neighbor's stereo." When Dean kissed him he recognized that blissful contentedness pulsing through him.

No. He needed to hear that music, that voice. Pulling away harder, he pressed an ear against the front door. The pound against it was akin to a log rail trying to break through.

_"Cas! C'mon. Come back to us!"_

It was his head pounding, not the door.

"Just ignore the neighbors Cas. You want some lunch?"

Right on cue, his stomach grumbled and strikes of hunger pains gripped his belly. Another pound against the door. No, a slam.

"Ouch! Oh. Something's not right." He held his head, then instantly flew into the coffee table as if dragged by a tractor.

_"Dammit! Can you hear me? Sammy I can't lose him again. What do I do? C'mon Cas! Fight it!" _

Pulling himself up from the wreck of the table beneath him, Cas boiled with emotion. Anger, hurt, loss, and rejection circulated through his system like a drug. A pollutant.

"What are you? What've you done to me?"

Dean's warm expression melted into disdain. "I'm not enough for you? I'm open, unashamed of who I am, don't I deserve to be saved? Loved?"

With a sinking, souring stomach Cas was beginning to piece something together. "The Dean I love will always deserve to be saved. He IS loved, by me and many others. He's hurt, flawed, and broken in ways that may never be fixed."

"Exactly. He's cursed. I'm not."

"Maybe. But I'd rather have him, cursed or not."

The disdain worn by this Dean, curled into terror and rage. Cas had never seen this side of the righteous man. Not when he'd bore the Mark. Not when he'd become a demon. This was not, nor would ever be, his Dean.

The heartbreak slamming into Cas, was as powerful and constant as wave after relentless wave crashing against the beaten shores outside.

"I'm leaving. Don't wait up." And with that, Cas flung the front door open.

As he did, he realized this Dean had always been so gentlemanly as to open it for him. Each and every time. Each and every day. Only when he opened that door, did he see the truth. _His truth. _

Sam, Rowena, and Charlie were covered in goo and armed to the teeth with weapons. Dean, still wearing the goddamned kilt and T shirt, clung to his wilted form as a bereaved lover.

Cas was unbelievably confused as to the particulars of what had happened. Knowledge that reality was but a step across the threshold had him wanting to the cartwheel over the thing. Putting one foot in front of the other, he heard a blood curdling scream behind him, and walked the fuck out.

His muscles were weak. His mouth was a desert. His vessels head pounded and its pulse raced. Cas wasn't sure if he was up or down. But he could also hear the pulse of the music and willed his heart to match its slower rate. The arms of someone he loved were enveloping him and their sweet voice beckoned.

"Come back to me. You gotta come back. Please."

The longing emanating from his Dean was so frighteningly real, he hadn't realized its absence during whatever dream loop he'd been in. But it was proof that he was home.

"I'm sorry for being a grouch. But you didn't need to make me sleep. You're enough. You've always been enough."

It could've been the relief Cas felt when hearing Dean's familiar voice. It could've been the river of longing which had been dammed by the Djinn or hybrid of some kind, based on the apparatus hanging above him he spied in between copious blinks from his eyes adjusting. Or it may have been his own heart, such that it was, singing in melancholy with its own infinite longing for what he'd thought they'd shared, and now understood they hadn't.

Regardless of what drove him to do what he did next, Castiel would never regret it.

"Cas- come back, I, I-"

It took nearly every ounce of energy remaining in both his vessel and grace to move his arms so his hands could grip that stupid fucking T shirt and pull Dean in closer. Much closer. A whisper was all he could manage. But it was enough.

"I want to ww-watch you surfing or s-sswimming naked. I'll buy y-you dinner, because I want tttt..to stick my hand un..nn-der that skirt. Jusst..no-no beaches or sandwiches."

He closed his eyes and drew Dean into a kiss that dreams were made of. His own, real dreams anyways. Moments later, he realized there was no frozen fear, no pushing back. Only pure, undiluted acceptance of his lips on Dean's. More than acceptance. The man he loved was craving Cas as badly as Cas had always craved him.

"Don't ever call it a skirt, especially in Scotland." Dean smiled at him so radiantly, the crinkles around his eyes were even smiling.

"Why's that?" Cas already knew hearing it referred to as a 'skirt' would be taken with a great offense. He just wanted to hear the answer.

Wearing his trademark smirk, Dean happily replied along with a giggling Rowena. "Yae can be kilt."

That garnered the biggest eye roll to date. Rowena aided Cas with an energy boost, so he could at least walk away from the Djinn slaughter that had transpired in the bowels of the arena. She, Charlie, and Sam stayed behind to clear the mess.

Dean refused to let go of his hand as they made for an exit out of the O2. He didn't know how long he'd been infected with the Djinn hybrid venom. Dean would explain he himself had been whammied and shoved into a housekeeping supply room by a scout, who had shifter abilities while he and Sam had been in the bathroom. Rowena and Charlie weren't too far behind, as they'd been road tripping through the Southwest and hopped a flight from Santa Fe.

But as he and Dean approached the exit, Cas thought he heard a song that could've been a continuation or part two to the one he remembered before things got really loopy.

"My circuits have blown

I know it's self-imposed

And all I have shared, and all I have loved, Is all I'll ever own

But something has changed I feel so alive

My life just blew up, I'd give it all up I'll depressurize

Oh, oh, oh, ten thousand miles left on the road

Oh, oh, oh, five hundred hours 'til I am home

I need something human, human Human, human."

He had his human. Dean sure looked like he'd walked five hundred miles to find his angel, and would walk five hundred more for him again. Their reality sucked sometimes. But it was theirs to make what they wished of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Priestly didn't wear a sporran with his kilt in the movie, but if Dean totes a hat bag to Tombstone, our lovable Bean would insist on this imperative accessory, if only to draw Cas's attention to that area in general.
> 
> Dean's comment about Jensen's no-name career was Dean's assessment, not mine. I loved Ten Inch Hero. 
> 
> The first song by Muse is "Dark Side" and the second is "Something Human."


End file.
